The Demented Z (Book 1):The Demented

by Derek J. Thomas

  Turning the corner, Tom was glad to see that this less busy side street did not have nearly the same level of chaos. There were people several blocks down, but too distant to make out what they were doing.

  Keeping on the accelerator, he sped down the street looking left and right at each intersection. Each street told the same story. The city was coming unglued.

  The blonde sat quietly staring out the window. Whether it was shock, despair, or just detailed observation, Tom did not know. The boy still sat in an upright fetal position.

  With the once distant figures now coming into sight, Tom could see it was more of the same, and not a path he wanted to take. If they kept driving sooner or later their luck would run out. He scanned both sides of the street, looking for an opportunity, and midway down the next block he found what might be their best hope…a bookstore.

  The Bookworm was a small mom and pop type store wedged between a trendy clothing store and a jewelry store. The buildings were constructed of large cement blocks, looking like a fortress. Tom was drawn to the bookstore. Sunlight shown on books in the small display windows, but did not penetrate into the dark interior.

  Pulling the car over to the curb, Tom was surprised when the blonde immediately popped open her door, and climbed out…apparently she had been just observing earlier. Shutting the car off, he left the keys in the ignition in case of the need for a quick getaway. The blonde already had the back door open and was coaxing the kid out as Tom came around the car.

  The trio quickly made their way over to the bookstore. Despite the closed sign, the doorknob turned freely. Tom was unsure if he should be worried or glad. Looking left and right down the street to make sure none of the rage monsters were barreling down on them, he pushed the door inward. He nearly jumped out of his pants when the little entry bell above the door jingled for a new customer.

  “Sorry we’re still closed.” Came a thin voice from somewhere in the back.

  Once all three of them were inside, Tom closed the door and locked the deadbolt. For the first time all morning there was peace. Other than sirens that were barely audible, sounding far off in the distance, there was quiet inside the little store.

  Breaking the silence was a “Hello?” from the back.

  Tom wanted to trust the thin voice, but after this morning, he felt caution was required. He gestured for his companions to stay put while he quietly circled to the left around a long row of bookshelves. The bookstore was narrow, with only two freestanding bookshelves, breaking the store into a center aisle with an aisle to each side.

  Darkness enveloped him as he worked his way farther away from the front windows. Staying tight to the inner bookshelf, he pulled out his favorite Leatherman and flipped it to rage monster killing pliers. Reaching the end of the aisle, he could see a sliver of light coming from underneath a door centered along the back. Placing his ear up to the dark wood of the door, he could hear nothing from the other side. Holding the Leatherman over his shoulder, he reached down and slowly turned the doorknob, pushing the door open.

  He was a bit surprised to find himself staring down the black holes of a double barrel shotgun. Behind the gun, on the other side of a desk, stood a grey haired elderly woman with a look of “go ahead and try it” on her face. Just to the right of her, behind the desk, he could see a small monitor displaying four grainy security camera views. In the upper left he could just make out the blonde and the boy still standing by the front door. She had watched him the whole time.

  Slowly raising his left hand, while dropping the Leatherman, he said, “I can explain.”

  “You damn well better…and call your friends up here.”

  They must have either heard or sensed something was going on, because he could see them moving toward him on the video display. He slowly sidestepped to make room in the doorway, saying nothing, knowing she could see them coming between the aisles.

  Seeing a woman and young boy did not lower the shotgun an inch. “So…what’s your story?”

  “When did you get to work this morning?” Tom asked.

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  Looking over his shoulder and pointing his thumb back toward the entrance, he said, “Things have changed out there…its chaos.”

  “He…he saved me.” The boy stammered, almost in tears. This caused the shotgun to lower a bit. Now Tom would get a gut shot instead of a head shot, not really a great trade off.

  She continued to eye them suspiciously. “Why are you here…sneaking between my books, with a knife or whatever that thing is?”

  Tom lowered his hands to his sides. “People are going crazy out there, attacking each other. We barely escaped the hotel. The streets are a mess, and we had to find somewhere to hole up for a bit. I’m sorry, but please trust us.” Getting no response, he continued on. “Do you have a TV or radio?”

  “I live in the apartment above, but...” before she could finish, there was a loud rumbling from the street, and popping noises that cut her off.

  Tom immediately recognized the popping as gunfire, and knew it must be close, probably on their street. No sooner had he finished this thought, a large white truck, the back loaded with people, went roaring past the front of the store. At least one of the passengers in the back had a pistol and was firing behind them. A few seconds later there was a loud squealing of tires followed by an enormous bang. They must have crashed into something just down the street.

  The crash was followed by an eerie silence.

  Several seconds later, out of the front store window, Tom saw people sprinting toward the truck. They had the same crazed, single minded run of those that pursued the boy earlier. Tom counted at least a dozen of them, most with arms awkwardly held out in front, as if reaching for their prey.

  There were a couple sporadic pops from a pistol, some shouting, and then a few quick shots fired in rapid succession. Next were the screams…gut wrenching screams. He could picture people being ripped to shreds while lying injured and helpless. Thankfully, the screams only lasted a few seconds before being replaced by the same eerie silence.

  Tom turned back toward the elderly woman. She now held the shotgun limply by her side. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out, a look of shock in her eyes.

  “Let’s get upstairs…ma’am…stairs?” Walking around the desk, he reached out and grabbed her arm. “Let’s get upstairs.” His touch seemed to bring her back to reality. Handing him the shotgun, she turned toward the back of the office, walking through a narrow doorway leading down the hall. Partway down the hall, she led them up a stairway to her apartment..

  Tom immediately crossed the small apartment to one of the windows facing the street. Pulling back the white lace drapes, he peered out, surveying the street below. There were no people immediately below the apartment, but farther down the street, in the direction of the wreck, there was a flurry of activity. The view was a tight angle, making it difficult to see what was going on. If he opened the window and leaned out, he may be able to get a better view, but he quickly dismissed that idea.

  The city was a buzz of noise. Sirens, alarms, and the occasional pops and booms of weapons fire could be heard through the glass. Being in the middle of the city, surrounded by the chaos, was absolutely terrifying.

  Releasing the drape, he turned back around, and found the three of them waiting expectantly.

  “I think we’re okay for now.”

  Now that Tom finally had a chance to take a breath and think, his thoughts went straight to Kelly and Sam. Had they stayed in the house like he told them? Did the neighbors get flu shots? Would she go talk to them? His worry was endless.

  The blonde squatted down next to the boy and began talking to him.

  Reaching in his thigh pocket, Tom found his cell phone. No Service, guess that was too much to ask on a day like today, he thought to himself. Looking back up, he saw the blonde was now holding the small boy in an embrace, comforting him - not Tom’s strong suit.
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  The elderly woman looked at Tom, “What’s happening?”

  Tom’s mind was still on a single track. “Where is your phone?”

  Turning and pointing to the counter by the kitchen sink, she replied “There.”

  He set the shotgun on the counter and tried the phone, nothing, no dial tone, no operator, no static, nothing.

  Back north of Spokane, he and his family lived on 80 acres. The seclusion would be a huge benefit to Kelly and Sam's survival. Kelly was very resourceful, and he had to trust she would be making the right decisions. Pushing the worry out of his mind, he focused on their current situation.

  Tom turned toward the elderly woman. “My name is Thomas Pike, but everyone just calls me Tom. I don’t know much more than you do.” He relayed the news he got off the TV, and the events that led up to them invading her bookstore. She remained expressionless during the recap, likely trying to process all the information.

  “The photographer was with me…we were taking interior photos of a few downtown businesses.” The blonde chimed in. “We were discussing plans in his room when he just snapped…started throwing things, yelling unintelligibly. I ran for my room and locked the door." Looking at Tom she finished, "You must have discovered him a few seconds later.”

  The little studio apartment was sparingly furnished, making it easy for Tom to quickly find the silver TV remote laying on the coffee table. Pressing the green power button, the picture came on a second later. He began cycling through channels, trying to locate any information. Most channels were sitcoms, infomercials, and other pre-recorded shows. Occasionally the screen would be filled only with a storm of black and white static. Getting frustrated, he continued through the stations, pressing harder and harder on the remote, as if pressure dictated the quality of the next station.

  Before making a complete revolution, he came across several of the 24/7 news stations, but each one was the same. They had a steady shot of the news anchors’ desks, but the chairs were empty and papers were strewn all about, like a giant wind storm had blown through. Some had chairs tipped over or filming debris piled about, but none of them had any people. On all of them were scrolling tickers, relaying the same information he had read back in his hotel room.

  Tom hit the green power button again. “Damn…nothing new.”

  He thought back to his home, surrounded by trees and mountains, unlike this prison of cement, streets, and people. He and Kelly had talked about how bad things would get in cities if something really drastic ever happened. He never pictured anything quite like this, always thinking it would be a massive power outage or some kind of food shortage. Now he had the sinking feeling that all of those were likely to happen, as well as far worse things. This was not the place to be, and he knew it.

  “I’m Rachael and this is Jack…he lost his parents this morning and I assured him we would take care of him.” The blonde said while running her fingers through his short brown hair. His big blue eyes looked up at Tom, nearly in tears, and then quickly went back to the floor, clearly not wanting anyone to see him cry. The little guy possessed the same innocent toughness as Sam.

  Bending down next to Jack, Tom said, “We’ve got you now, don’t worry. How old are you Jack?”

  “8 and a half.”

  “Well you’re just a bit older than my son Sam.” The words caught in his throat as he thought about his family.

  Tom turned away from them, clearly wanting to get to a different subject. “We can’t stay here. We need...”

  Stepping forward, the elderly woman cut him short, “Stay…its fine…please.” She looked distraught, agitated.

  “No…it’s not that. We have to get out of the city. Portland is going to be a death trap…if it’s not already.” Tom glanced out the window again. “I’ve been thinking. Somewhere around half of citizens get the flu shot each year. If the shot is truly what is causing this…” He left the rest unsaid.

  “It’s crazy out there, how can we get anywhere?” Rachael asked.

  “We have to stay. It will be safe here…we’re upstairs.” The elderly woman was nearly in tears. She began shaking, her face reddening.

  Tom put both hands out, trying to calm everyone. “I think I have a plan...let me think it all through a bit.”

  The elderly woman started to say something, fidgeted a bit, and then turned and walked into what Tom assumed was the bathroom.

  Tom and Rachael exchanged glances, but said nothing.

  “I’m hungry,” Jack said. Leave it to the little one to be able to push aside everything to focus on the necessities.

  Rachael placed her hand on his shoulder. “Let’s get you something then Hun.” The two of them headed for the kitchen to see what they could find.

  Worried about her mobility, Tom watched her walk gingerly into the kitchen. She definitely favored her other ankle, but he was glad to see that it did not hinder her too much.

  Too anxious to hold still, Tom went back over to the window to check on the street below. A slight breeze was blowing in thick smoke from one of the fires farther up the street, but even through the haze, he could make out figures working their way toward their car. He could not believe they would stay out in the open, walking right down the middle of the street. Trying to decide if he should go downstairs to protect their getaway car, he continued to watch them.

  As they got closer, he began to notice their walk was awkward and even erratic at times. It was almost as if their feet wanted to run, but the rest of their bodies were perfectly happy taking their sweet time. This had to be the uncontrolled walk of these demented, crazy people. Up until now, he had only seen them running, but maybe when no prey was in sight, they meandered aimlessly, focused on just putting one foot in front of the other.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a loud banging from behind him. Turning to see where the noise was coming from, expecting to see Jack or Rachael banging on a jar of food, he was surprised to see both their heads turned toward the door the elderly woman had disappeared through. The banging stopped abruptly, followed by a guttural scream, animal like and filled with rage. Even backing away from the door as far as possible, there was not enough room in the small kitchen for Rachael and Jack.

  Jack crossed the room and picked the shotgun up off the kitchen counter. The elderly woman had an impressive set of lungs, but the scream did finally come to an end, followed by more pounding at the door. She was thin and frail in appearance, but Tom didn’t know how long the thin door could hold up to the brutal pounding.

  Suddenly the air was filled with the unmistakable sound of shattering glass. This did not come from the bathroom, but below them, in the bookstore. All of the racket must have drawn the attention of the two demented outside by the car. Cracking the breach on the shotgun, he verified there were two rounds loaded and ready. He snapped the gun back together.

  Over the incessant pounding at the bathroom door, he could hear bookshelves being tipped over in the store below. Unless he could find more ammo for the shotgun, he had three targets and two rounds. He had to prioritize. The elderly woman was currently contained, so the two below would take precedence. “Stay up here, but if she starts to break through, then follow me down.”

  Like a cat burglar in the night, he crept down the stairs, focusing on stepping near the wall, where the boards were least likely to creak. The sounds of books hitting the floor and angry grunts echoed up the narrow stairway. Pressing the shotgun tight to his shoulder, he neared the bottom of the stairs, where the corner became too tight for the long barrel. He didn’t like it, but he dropped the front of the shotgun to make the turn into the hallway.

  On the far side of the office, through the doorway, an overweight man in dark sweatpants was busy shaking one of the bookshelves. Even with blood covering his armpit stained t-shirt, he looked comical, almost as if he was shaking a vending machine hoping for free snacks to drop.

  Tom raised the shotgun back up to his shoulder, and got a tight bead on Sweatpants. Not feeli
ng right about just blowing away a man that currently showed him no aggression, Tom began working toward him, heel to toe. The old Fox Model B had two triggers, so he kept his index finger and middle finger each on a trigger, ready for both demented if necessary.

  Just before reaching the office, there was a shuffling noise, and a man dressed in a business suit stepped right in front of him, filling the doorway. His hands and face were covered in dripping red blood. Blood shot eyes, filled with rage, locked on Tom, and between grimy teeth, he issued a low growl. With no room for hesitation, Tom pulled the first trigger, turning the business man’s head into a red cloud of mist as he toppled to the ground. Through the mist, he could see Sweatpants running into the office, headed for the desk. Tom put the bead on him, pulling the second trigger. Sweatpants was just trying to leap over the desk when the shot slammed into his chest, flipping him backwards onto the floor, out of view.

  Cracking the shotgun open, and flinging the smoking shells onto the floor, Tom stepped over the business man into the office. Even with his ears ringing, he could hear through one of the shattered front windows, the patter of running feet, and animal like growls. There were several dark flashes as people sprinted past the store front.

  The gunfire was drawing more of them.

  A sense of relief flooded over Tom as the sound of their footsteps faded, but the relief quickly disappeared when he heard crackling of shattered glass. Looking at the surveillance monitor, he could see at least three people walking near the broken front window, peering in with curiosity. Whether it was haste or their inability to pinpoint the location of the gunshots, the first few ran past leaving the slower stragglers. At least Tom hoped they were slower...not smarter.

  Knowing this could get real ugly, real fast, he stepped over to the desk and began rifling through the drawers. She had to keep more ammo somewhere, and this seemed like the logical spot.