The Demented
A novel by Derek Thomas
Version 12.10.13.1
Copyright © 2013 Derek Thomas
All Rights Reserved. The Demented is an original work of fiction. All characters and concepts are solely owned by Derek Thomas. Names, characters, places, concepts, and events are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to events or actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
A huge thanks to my always supportive wife, Mindi.
This book is dedicated to my two little zombies, Carter and Sawyer.
Chapter 1: Chaos
Beep…Beep…Beep
Tom reached out, blindly slapping at the alarm clock until it finally went silent. The survival and preparedness conference was over and it was nearing time for his flight back home. The conference was the usual B.S. and mostly a waste of time. Just an excuse for a bunch of salesman to tell you their gizmo is the greatest thing ever and nobody will be able to live without it…barf.
Hefting the pile of blankets off, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and slowly rose. His usual routine took a bit longer since he was in a hotel room, but after a bit, the news was playing on the TV, and the smell of fresh coffee hung in the air. Half listening to the news he began alternating packing his clothes and banging out some pushups and sit-ups.
He was in the bathroom snatching freebies and throwing them in his ditty bag, when he overheard the news anchors in a heated discussion concerning flu shots. A couple days ago the big news was riots concerning flu vaccines. He never got his the previous winter. Not out of fear or anything like that, but sheer forgetfulness.
After coming out of the bathroom, he stopped by the TV to see what was getting the anchors so agitated.
Tom’s stomach knotted up when he read the ticker at the top of the TV:
“…911 immediately and do not approach them. Urgent! If you or anyone you know has received a flu shot within the past year call 911 immediately and do not approach them. Urgent! If you or…” The ticker continued to loop.
What was going on? His mind raced to his family back at home. Had they gotten flu shots…he did not think so. Kelly had said that Sam had a stuffy nose and the doctor did not recommend getting the shot while sick. Thank God for the common cold he thought. Grabbing his cell phone and holding down ‘1’ he speed dialed Kelly’s cell.
After three excruciating rings, Tom was near panic, when he finally heard Kelly’s voice, “Hey there.”
“Have you seen the news?” Tom stammered in a rush.
“Just catching bits and pieces, channel 2 just went black.”
“Sam okay?”
“Yeah, he's back in his room playing.”
Knowing the news was likely trying to panic everyone, he said, “There's probably nothing to worry about…just stay home until I get there.”
There was a sudden loud banging coming from outside his hotel room door. Tom said, “Love you and I’m on my way. Gotta go, I’ll call again.” He ended the call, dropped the cell into his thigh pocket, and ran over to the door. Peering out the peephole, he saw only the distorted white door across the hall, like looking into a carnival mirror. Sliding out the privacy chain and unlocking the deadbolt, he slowly opened the door, easing his head out into the hall. What he saw absolutely terrified him.
A man dressed in stained khaki pants, stood pounding on the next door down the hall, using the remnants of a camera tripod. His once white dress shirt was covered in blood and even his blonde hair had gore splattered throughout. Khaki’s face muscles were tight with rage and determination. The door splintered and began to break in as he continued to hammer away at it.
As Tom watched in horror, Khaki slowed his pounding, and turned toward him. His mouth opened into a snarl, blood oozing out between his bottom teeth. With terrifying speed he leapt toward Tom.
Yanking his head back into the doorway, Tom shoved with his left arm to close the door, but Khaki was too fast, already having the bloody tripod shoved up against the door. Pushing with all his strength, Tom was still losing ground, and knew he had to think of something fast.
With a grunt, he gave one last shove at the door, and used this leverage to propel himself over the bed. With a roll, he came up to his feet on the far side. Khaki rushed through the now open doorway, leaping the bed. In his haste to catch Tom, he caught a foot on the mattress and slid headfirst across the covers, slamming into the wall. Khaki was immediately trying to regain his feet, barely slowed by the seemingly painful crash.
Thinking quickly, Tom unzipped the top sleeve of his suitcase, and reached in to grab his Leatherman multi-tool…one of the few nice gifts from the conference.
Khaki was back on his feet, and with a growl began his charge. Tom knew there was no time to pick the weapon of choice from within the multi-tool, so instead he held it tightly in his right fist while pivoting on his left foot. With all of his strength, he brought the edge of the Leatherman down on Khaki’s forehead. A sickening crunch was followed by blood splattering out as his skull gave way. Like a puppet without its master, Khaki’s legs dropped out from under him.
Bloody dead guy on the hotel room floor…great.
Reaching in his pocket and grabbing his cell phone, Tom dialed 911. The receiver immediately sounded, “All operators are currently busy, please hang up and try dialing again later.”
Tom set the bloody Leatherman down, not sure he would ever want to use it again. He reached under the lamp to grab the room phone, but before he could lift the receiver an ear piercing screeching began. The noise cut out and then started again every couple seconds.
His severed friendship with the Leatherman was quickly stitched back up. Grabbing it, he headed through the open doorway into the hall. The noise was much louder out here and was beginning to make it difficult to think. Bright strobes flashed from red boxes along the hallway.
Fire!
No time for calls, he had to get out of here. Partway down the hallway, a green exit sign hung from the ceiling. Beginning to turn that direction, he heard the distinctive thwok of a deadbolt being disengaged. Spinning back around, he tried to determine which door the noise had come from. The brass handle on the splintered in door slowly began to turn.
He flipped both handles of his Leatherman 180 degrees so that the sharp pliers could be used as a weapon if needed. Crouching down, he tensed waiting for the door to open.
The door slowly opened inward. Nothing happened for a few seconds. Time stretched on, feeling like an eternity to Tom. Finally a head of blonde hair poked out, turning toward him. At the sight of him she tensed, looking ready to duck back into her room.
Holding his left hand out, palm down, he gave a patting motion, and said, “I’m not going to hurt you, but we gotta get out of here.” Either she had trouble hearing him over the sirens, or the bloody Leatherman in his other hand made her question his sincerity. He quickly pocketed the Leatherman and just shouted, “Come on !"
“Where’s the camera guy?” She hollered back.
Not knowing what else to say, he shouted, “Dead.” Strangely enough, this seemed to release the tension in her face, and she eased out into the hall. Dressed in black slacks and a light blouse, she looked to be in town on business. Hoping to avoid explanations about the dead guy, Tom turned and ran for the exit sign while giving a “follow me” gesture over his shoulder.
The exit sign was mounted above a large metal door with a blue stairway symbol next to it. Slamming into the crash bar, he glanced over his shoulder to see if she was following him. Seeing her racing toward him, he continued into the stairwell.
The sirens were deafening in the en
closed space, which is why Tom was unable to hear the chaos four flights below. Oblivious to the danger, he began taking the steps several at a time. At the first turn, he grasped the metal rail to spin around the corner while looking back up the way he came. He was glad to see the blonde following with surprising speed.
Tom was busy trying to calculate how many floors he had went down, when he made a turn and slammed right into the back of a large man. The hotel foyer was in sight, just a half flight farther down, but the stairs were jammed with people trying to push their way down.
On the other side of the foyer, huge flames were leaping up the wall, licking the ceiling. The entire entrance was consumed in fire, filling most of the room in black, acrid smoke. One of the giant windows to the side of the entrance was broken out, forming a makeshift exit. A huge mass of people were piled in front of the open window, trying to climb over one another to escape.
For an unknown reason, many of the people in the foyer were fighting with those trying to escape, often times dragging them to the ground in a thrashing of arms. Near Tom, at the bottom of the stairs was a huge brawl between those wanting to escape through the window and those wanting back up the stairs.
Tom’s decision was immediate. The foyer was certain death, so he spun around on the stairs and ran smack into the blonde. He yelled “UP, UP, UP!” Forming a plan in his mind, he raced back up to the second floor, and then took the door leading to the hall.
There were doors o n both sides, running all the way to the end, where there was a large glass window overlooking the back parking lot. Glancing back to make sure the blonde was still following, he sprinted down the hall, stopping just short of the window. He turned to the side, and with all of his energy, he kicked right next to the doorknob on room 226. With a loud crack, the door shuddered but did not give way. Several kicks later, the door jamb splintered, and the door swung inward, slamming into the wall.
Nearly identical to his room , there was a queen bed on one side, and across from it, a short dresser with a TV on top. Next to that sat a mini-fridge with a black microwave above. Tom grabbed the microwave with both hands, turned, and ran for the door. There was a loud snap as the plug ripped free of the outlet, probably damaging the receptacle, but that was the least of his worries.
Returning to the hallway, he could hear screams coming from the stairwell door, and smoke was pouring out into the hallway. The blonde looked at him and then down at the microwave in his hands. She must have known exactly what his plan was, because she immediately stepped away from the window and backed up against the wall.
With a heave, Tom threw the microwave into the large window, and with a loud thunk it came bouncing right back. His eyes were beginning to burn from the thick smoke, and he was becoming increasingly worried that this was a really bad idea. He grabbed the microwave again, and this time went about twenty feet down the hallway. With a yell, he sprinted down the hall as quickly as he could with a forty pound microwave held in front of him. With a grunt, he launched the microwave toward the large window. While it flew through the air, seemingly in slow motion, all Tom could think was how could this day get any worse...
With a loud crack, the microwave slammed into the window, and then dropped to the floor next to him. Tom’s heart sank. Then he heard something, a familiar crackling noise. Looking at the window, he could see a small set of cracks slowly fanning out like a spider web. Grabbing the microwave for what he hoped would be the last time; Tom shoved it at the center of the spider web. With a loud crash, the glass came straight down as the microwave went flying out the window, nearly taking him with it.
With the open path to fresh air, smoke began rushing through the hallway, out into open space. Knowing there was no time for a careful escape, Tom peered out the window, and leaped toward the small shrubbery that marked the edge of the parking lot.
A couple seconds later, the blonde came crashing down next to him, crying out in pain. Tom had landed in the middle of the shrubs, causing minor scratches, but blunting the fall enough to avoid real injury. Unfortunately, the blonde missed the shrubs, instead landing on the hard packed bark landscaping.
Trying to catch his breath while crawling out of the shrubs, Tom asked, "Are you okay?"
"Think I got my ankle."
"Bad?"
"I'll live, help me up."
Tom had to give her credit, she was one tough cookie. Extending his hand, he helped her to her feet. She grimaced and stood gingerly, but no complaints.
Surveying the street, it was clear problems extended beyond their hotel. Several cars were piled up in the center of the intersection, steam coming out from under some of the hoods. The drivers were nowhere to be seen. The little coffee shop he had used the previous morning had a metal patio table thrown through the front window. The hotel fire alarm could still be heard, but several car alarms in various directions could also be heard.
"Holy crap....now what? " The blonde asked.
"We gotta get somewhere safe and find out what the hell is going on."
Tom reached into his pants pockets for the keys to his rental car, but found only dryer lint and his Leatherman. Thinking back, he could picture the keys laying on the nightstand in his room, right next to his wallet. In all the excitement he failed to grab much of anything.
The blonde must have known what he was looking for. With a smile of pride, she dangled her own set of keys out in front of him. "I have the blue Focus back under the tree." She said while pointing with the keys.
Tom started to turn in that direction, and then noticed movement down by the wrecked cars. It was a small boy, maybe ten years old, dodging through the wreckage. He was definitely in a hurry. A couple seconds later it was clear why the boy was in such a hurry. Several people were chasing after him.
The only thing keeping the boy out ahead of his pursuers was their own haste. All of them were in such a hurry to catch him that they were pounding into cars and tripping over debris. Tom thought back to Khaki's rush to leap over the bed in his hotel room.
Tom grabbed the keys out of Blondes' outstretched hand, and then began running for the Focus. "Wait there...I'll pick you up." He yelled over his shoulder while looking down at the set of keys for the remote unlock button.
Sprinting across the blacktop, he glanced toward the boy and hollered, "This way kid, this way!" The boy knew he could not outrun his chasers forever so he veered toward the parking lot, probably figuring anyone was better than those chasing him. Tom began repeatedly pressing the unlock button until he saw the taillights blink.
Skidding to a stop, Tom threw open the driver door, and jumped in. He fumbled with the keys for a couple seconds before jamming one inside the ignition, and firing up the engine. He threw the car in reverse, and then stomped on the gas. The front tires of the Focus squealed, white smoke billowing out in front of the car, and then they gripped the pavement, accelerating the car away from the curb. Watching his rear view mirror, Tom could see the boy racing in his direction. As Tom neared the boy, he slammed on the brakes, reached over and flung open the passenger door. The boy jumped into the seat, and before he could get the door closed, Tom shifted into drive, and gunned the gas, speeding away from the pursuers.
At the far end of the parking lot, the blonde leaned up against one of the handicap parking signs. Accelerating toward her, Tom shouted to the kid, "leave the door and get in the back." Without a moment’s hesitation, the boy crawled between the seats. Knowing they had gained distance, Tom turned and eased to a stop next to the blonde that was now holding out a single thumb in hopes of hitching a ride. Tom couldn't help but smile. Dropping the comedy act, she wasted no time hopping off the curb, and piling into the passenger seat while reaching back to slam the door closed.
Tom glanced out his side window while accelerating toward the street that fronted the hotel. Three men and two women were racing across the parking lot, their faces red with rage, arms reaching out awkwardly in front of them. Turning the corner onto the street, he
could see this nightmare was just getting started.
Chapter 2: Realization
In front of Tom was a scene straight out of the aftermath of a Hollywood blockbuster. The immediate intersection was jammed up with wrecked cars, one of them flipped over on top of a broken fire hydrant, water jetting in all directions. farther down the street, the back of a red ladder truck stuck out of a hardware store, bricks tumbling down its sides, spilling across the sidewalk. Like the hotel next to him, fires crackled in the windows and smoke poured out into the street.
On both sides of the street several separate groups of people were in massive fights. Some people were on the ground underneath attackers, others were being drug to the ground, while many around them lay alone, unmoving. There were people on fire, oblivious to the flames, chasing after others. The chaos was nearly overwhelming.
Tom forced himself to focus on the task at hand. They had to get out of here.
Steering the car over to the far left side of the road, he hoped to avoid both the burning hotel and most of the crazed people. At the sound of the rumbling engine, several people turned toward them, eyes demented and filled with rage. Those that were not already preoccupied with unleashing havoc on their downed victims, began racing toward them.
The blonde let out an ear piercing scream just before one of them slammed into the passenger side window. His face pressed up to the glass, blood and spit dotted the view. Tom quickly hit the power door lock, not knowing if the rage monster would take the time to use the door handle or not. As the blonde leaned toward Tom trying to gain distance from the window, there was another loud thump as someone hit the back window on the driver’s side.
Everything was too much for the boy. He sat dead center in the back seat, with his legs curled up, knees covering his face, motionless.
The car lurched forward as Tom stomped on the gas. Veering to the right, he aimed the car for a gap between the mess of cars in the intersection and the corner of the hotel. With a jolt, the car bounced up over the curb and squeezed through the narrow gap, only losing the driver side mirror in the process.
The Demented Z (Book 1):The Demented Page 1