Slow Burn: A Zombie Novel

by Mike Fosen

  “Ma’am, stay back,” I said, turning back towards the woman.

  When he started shambling towards me faster, ignoring my commands to stop and get on the ground, I shot him twice at center mass. Two bright red rings appeared on his chest, and I assumed that this was going to be another pain in the ass to explain, shooting an unarmed man.

  Once again, I was sadly mistaken.

  The two rounds that struck him dead center only made him stumble back a step or two, but then he came at me again. It was as if I had just pushed him with my hand.

  “What the fuck is going on?” I was stumped. How could someone take two Speer Gold Dot 9mm hollow points to the chest and not even say ‘ouch’?

  My next shot, now at a mere five yards, struck him right between those hungry looking eyes. He dropped like a puppet with the strings just cut.

  Wait a minute, I thought, making the beginnings of a connection. Javier had taken a world class ass whooping and kept coming back for more until his head was crushed. And now this guy took two hollow points to the chest and ignored them as if they were bug bites, until I shot him between the eyes.

  Get the fuck out of here! Someone please tell me these aren’t zombies!

  “This is real life, isn’t it?” I asked aloud, still puzzled. Well, if that was the case, it all could make sense, the infection, the biting, and the resistance to pain.

  I shuddered when I thought how many times Javier’s teeth were about to take a chunk out of this old white boy’s ass. If bitten, I surely would have become one of them, and that was not how I planned on going out.

  “Officer, my baby is in there!” the woman behind me said in broken English, pointing at the school and snapping me out of my daydream.

  “Go wait in your car, ma’am, and lock your doors,” I told her. “It seems these people are spreading some sort of infection through biting or something.”

  She gave me a description of her child, a daughter named Lucy, and a general idea where her little girl should be located in the school. I reached my squad’s trunk again. This time instead of crime scene tape, I retrieved my issued Colt M4 from its case and simply tucked my five extra magazines into my cargo pants pockets. Closing the trunk lid, I couldn’t help but pause to take a good look at the woman who was now getting into her car. Long black hair, extremely attractive with a low cut white tank top that left a large amount of cleavage showing. I ripped my gaze away from her chest and looked up right into her dark brown eyes. Giving her a little “I’m busted” smile, I turned and started jogging up to the school door.

  Screw Officer of the Year, I would take a reward from her any day.

  * * * * * * * *

  The slamming of the car door followed by the clicking sound of the door locks engaging reminded Stephen of a hammer nailing his coffin shut. Nervous sweat rolled down his back as he began a slow walk backwards.

  “Open the door, Roy,” Stephen said calmly, hoping to convince Roy to come around. “I don’t want to have to smash out my own window.”

  Stephen continued to walk backwards as screams and moans came from the huge mob heading his way.

  He reached the still locked driver’s door.

  “Roy! Open the goddamn door now!”

  Roy didn’t say a word, and he actually put on his seat belt and then closed his eyes.

  “Roy!” Stephen said, almost pleading. “I need you to unlock the door so we can leave.”

  Roy, face white with fear, continued to ignore him but he did open his eyes just enough to stare in fear at the mob that was swiftly covering ground. Stephen glanced up to see what Roy was looking at, and the dozen or so destroyed vehicles and squad cars behind the mob made for a hypnotic light show. Stephen himself still had a hard time believing what he was seeing. Scores of them peeled off from the main host and smashed through the windows and doors of apartment buildings to the left and right sides of the street as they made their way towards him, almost as if they were distracted by closer prey. Cries for help erupted from the surrounding apartments that were silenced in short order.

  Almost without thinking, Stephen raised his carbine and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened, and he immediately realized he had never slammed the bolt home on his fresh magazine. A brisk slap with the left palm and he was back in action. Now reacquiring his target, a large man at the front of the pack, he fired. Center mass, the target faltered in his tracks but did not fall. The mob moved ever closer and Stephen could now add smell to his sensory overload. A quick assessment and a double tap at the same moving target, and he finally went down. It looked more like he was pushed down from behind as the others caught up to him. Picking up the pace, Stephen began to fire as soon as he came on target, striking three with a quick six shot barrage. Stephen swung his rifle back to the mob’s vanguard and momentarily froze.

  “What the hell?”

  The man he now had in his sights, who he knew for a fact had just taken two tight grouped .223 rounds to the chest, was still up and coming at him. Stephen took a quick second to look more closely at the mob. In fact not a single person shot had fallen. Stephen glanced down at his carbine accusingly as if it was the carbine’s fault that they were not dead.

  Now with the mob a mere seven yards from him, Stephen was forced to start a fighting retreat since Roy still had not opened the damned car door. He thought about smashing out the window but now worried that he didn’t have the time. Stephen took a few slow and controlled steps to the rear and fired a single aimed shot. Just an hour or so ago if someone had told Stephen he would be firing into an unarmed crowd, he would have thought them crazy. This target, a prison-swollen banger, went down hard and stayed that way. Stephen remembered seeing brain matter fly on that one from a definite head shot. The fact that the remaining pursuers were not deterred was still lost on him. Stephen fired again, another head shot caused a rather obese woman to fall unmoving. A third target took two rounds to fall as the first shot hit low right, knocking off the jaw of the determined goon. The blood splattered throng neither sprinted forward nor retreated while they were under fire. They merely continued on en mass with a look of hazy determination. Glancing down at the few attackers that did not get back up with the massive head wounds, he had a “Pucker Factor” moment.

  “No fucking way!”

  His mind was now racing. It was just like in those damned zombie flicks, head shots killed; any other injuries just pissed them off and wasted ammo in the process.

  With this newfound perspective, Stephen raised his patrol rifle again, lining up another several head shots and downed them all. It was going spectacularly well until he noticed he had burned through another magazine. Retreating from the deceptively fast mob, he dropped the empty and reloaded again, this time slapping the bolt home on queue. He had now backed up well past his squad car and could see Roy inside it cringing away from the windows as the mob reached his passenger window. It looked like Roy had finally drawn his pistol as well.

  “Roy, get the fuck out of there!” Stephen screamed.

  The mob of at least a hundred people flowed around and over the top of the squad like flood water through a broken levy.

  He hoped that maybe Roy would be okay as long as the windows remained intact.

  Just then, a loud bang came from within the squad followed by the sound of glass breaking. Stephen could only stand there and stare at Roy’s ultimate and final stupid rookie mistake – shooting at someone through a closed window. Screaming in pain and fear, Roy was quickly, and not smoothly, pulled from the squad through the broken window in several pieces. Stephen tried not to vomit at the sight of Roy’s intestines unraveling. With his last conscious action, Roy tried vainly to hold his stomach in as scores of attackers ravenously tore into the little man. A large number of the crowd flowed past the feeding frenzy and headed directly for Stephen. Now, of all times, Stephen had the sudden urge to pee.

  * * * * * * * *

  Chris was disgusted but not deterred at seeing the trooper being eaten
. Having endured a similar nightmare in Afghanistan, he had grown accustom to the sight of dismembered bodies. He trained the front sight of his Glock onto his nearest target, the crippled driver of the Taurus, who was now crawling towards him, dragging his broken legs. It was an easy shot that close to a slow moving target. Chris fired a round off, which struck the cripple in the top of his skull and removed a large portion of his jaw on its exit. The man dropped motionless onto his chest and what was left of his face. Chris looked up and saw one of the paramedics stand and turn to face him. The medic had a large piece of what appeared to be an internal organ of some type belonging to the trooper hanging from his mouth. Chris gave several commands for the man to get on the ground but received no sign of comprehension or compliance from the medic. He snapped off two successive rounds to the medic’s chest, which rocked him back a step or two. The medic resumed his advance undeterred. Behind his line of fire, Chris noticed the other medic now lurching to his feet, and he too started to stumble in Chris’ direction. The body of the trooper began to convulse and twitch as well. Chris rattled off four consecutive rounds at the first medic, who still did not fall.

  “What the hell?”

  A shout of anger behind him was the only warning Chris received before being tackled from behind.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” the fireman who tackled him screamed.

  Watching his pistol fly out of his hands, bouncing out into the street, Chris muscled himself onto his back and blocked a punch to his face with his forearm. The fireman obviously thought he was protecting his friends from a crazed cop.

  Chris grunted for the fireman to get off him, his eyes widening in fear as the face of the paramedic he’d shot was descending towards him with teeth bared, determined to take a chunk out of Chris’ neck. Chris grabbed the fireman’s canvas fire coat and yanked him up, putting the fireman between himself and the crazed paramedic, pleading all the while for the fireman to listen. The last thing Chris could see was the medic’s blood-covered face closing in. The fireman shrieked in pain as teeth tore into his neck. With a mighty heave, Chris pushed the fireman to the side and atop the medic, who was still worrying at the fireman’s neck. Breathing hard and now weaponless, Chris regained his feet and retreated as the former dead trooper struggled to his feet and fell upon the weakly screaming fireman along with the other medic. Knowing discretion was the better part of valor, Chris turned and ran like a gazelle to his squad car.

  Fumbling for his key, he got his trunk open and grabbed his shotgun along with his Go-Bag. Stepping around the rear of his trunk, Chris began to rack a round into the shotgun’s chamber when he observed the bloody medics and fireman attack the large group of onlookers who had failed to leave when told to do so. Several men in the group tried to fight back but were quickly taken down. One large black man in a black t-shirt looked like he was using an aluminum baseball bat to good effect, buying time for several of the women to scatter in every direction. Two younger boys had now found his Glock in the street and took off southbound with it.

  “Shit!” Chris swore in dismay, at the same time also seeing the bloody trooper stumble up and enter the rear of an open ambulance where others from the initial crash were still being treated.

  Within two minutes, this scene had gone to complete shit, instantly becoming every man for himself. Screams and curses filled the air as a few remaining firemen bolted for the large fire truck near Chris’ squad and jumped inside. The driver punched the accelerator and headed right for Chris. He jumped to the side and tumbled to the ground as the truck went roaring past him and slammed directly into the side of his squad car, which was still blocking traffic. Pieces of the squad flew through the air, and his poor squad was shoved a good thirty feet until it was slammed to the curb, as the fire truck sped off into the distance. Chris shakily got to his feet, watched the rapidly retreating truck, and then looked at his totaled squad car in disbelief as several dragging footsteps closed on him from behind.

  7

  August 26

  Day 1

  Janice had been a Joliet Police Dispatcher for the last twelve years, and she had never seen it this bad. She tried unsuccessfully to reach the officers sent to several different disturbances. County and state units were also unavailable for backup, and it seemed Joliet was on its own. For the last five minutes, she had repeated requests for status updates and frankly now was tired of hearing her own voice. Exasperated, she threw up her hands and took off her headset.

  “Someone fill in, I’m going on a quick smoke break, girls,” she said angrily and pushed her chair away from the computer console.

  She left the radio room and went down the stairwell to a back door leading into the alley in the rear of the police station. Exiting the door, which locked behind her, Janice reached for her pack of smokes. A pack and a half a day smoker, she had not had one in over two hours with all the excitement and was starting to get real bitchy. Lighting up her cigarette, she took a long deep drag and blew it up towards the smoke tinged sky.

  That was much better.

  Now what the hell is happening out there? she wondered. Why was no one answering their radios?

  Deep in thought, Janice began to pace back and forth in the alley and could make out faint sounds of gunshots to the south of her. Sadly, shootings were an everyday occurrence here in Joliet, but the difference this time was that she did not hear the sirens of squad cars responding to them. Starting to pace once again and lighting up another smoke, Janice saw a young Hispanic woman had entered the alley. She could see that the woman was limping and obviously injured from cuts to her arms and face. Janice rushed down the alley to see if she needed medical assistance.

  “Are you alright honey?” Janice asked.

  The woman did not reply other than to moan in apparent pain. Janice could see that she was walking on an obviously broken ankle, which was distorted and swollen at a grotesque angle, hence the limp.

  “Oh you poor thing. Let me help you sit down,” Janice offered and reached out to hold the woman’s arms for support.

  Fingers like talons of bone dug into Janice’s arm in a vise-like grip, unyielding with the pressure. Not expecting to be assaulted, Janice froze in confusion. The woman’s head whipped forward as she dragged Janice’s arm to her gaping mouth and buried her teeth into Janice’s right wrist. Janice screamed in pain and shoved the woman down but not until after the injured woman ripped meat and tendons from Janice’s wrist. Staring at the profusely bleeding wound, Janice screamed again and stumbled backwards to the locked door. The employee entrance had an electronic key pad with a specific code for that individual employee. Suffering from pain and shock, Janice punched in the wrong code. On the second attempt, she managed to get it right and opened the door. When she moved to enter, the female attacker once again drove her teeth into Janice’s left shoulder. Janice screamed in pain again and twisted out of the woman’s grasp, dislodging the woman, but losing a sizeable chunk of meat from her shoulder in the process. Sobbing in considerable pain, Janice bolted inside but failed to secure the door behind her. Before the door swung closed on its own, a bloody hand, missing a few fingers, stopped the door from closing, and the attacker burst into the now unsecured hallway.

  Breathing hard and bleeding heavily, Janice reached the key pad leading into the secured room of the dispatch center. Fingers shaking, she punched in the correct code as heavy footsteps followed her up the stairwell. Dragging the door open, she fell into the room screaming for help. Several women shrieked at the sight of Janice all bloody and crying on the floor as one quick thinking dispatcher slammed the door shut before the unknown intruder could reach it. Janice sobbed uncontrollably, relaying to her coworkers what had happened to her. Others watched in disbelief on the police station’s closed circuit monitors. The station was nearly empty of police personnel, with all available units responding to calls. A long line of panicked civilians begging for help in the lobby was now a mob, and several brutally injured persons were now wander
ing freely about the station. A civilian front desk worker was attacked when she left a restroom and walked directly into her own death. A second front desk worker that the girls knew as Lisa, who had been patiently taking frantic and somewhat far-fetched reports, finally bolted for the front door of the station. Finally, a dispatcher grabbed a headset and called out to anyone who could respond that the police station was under attack. Silence followed the desperate transmission. The sound of Janice’s weakening sobbing was all that they could hear. The seconds ticked by, and finally one officer did respond on the air, Officer Chris Jacobs.

  * * * * * * * *

  At the sound of footsteps behind him, Chris turned and saw several people approaching him. All had the same dead look to them, and they were not exhibiting any signs of reason or emotion.

  Thinking that it would be hard to explain to the chief later, Chris pondered his next move.

  He watched them just continue at a steady walk right towards him, coming with hard stares and haunting moans, which pierced his soul. Many more victims on the ground started to twitch and convulse, with blood coming from their eyes, mouths and noses. Chris watched in amazement as a few started to get up. He ripped his gaze back to the group in front of him. Much closer now, he could see that every one of them seemed to have a significant wound to their body. Arms, legs, face, and torsos had what looked like bite wounds or lacerations with chunks of flesh removed. From the amount of blood he could see, most had apparently bled considerably at first, but it appeared that the blood flow had now stopped entirely. He could not understand why, however, since many of the injuries were open gashes, often down to the exposed bone.

  They almost looked like…zombies.

  His shotgun roared, and a 12 gauge slug tore through the chest of a particularly maimed individual, the bad ass in the black t-shirt. The man was blasted onto his back while Chris kept an eye on the others who gave zero response to the fact he just fired into their midst. The man clambered to his feet, and Chris flinched at the sight. He could actually see all the way through the man from where the shotgun slug had torn a tunnel through his chest!