The Demented Z (Book 1):The Demented

by Derek J. Thomas

  Tom back peddled away from him. Hank kept his rifle trained on him as he rose, waiting to see how he would react. His chewed up lips and jaw hung slack, eyes glazed over and empty. With a growl that was part moan, he took a step toward Hank, arms reaching out for him. The loud boom of Hank’s rifle filled the small room. Security Guy recoiled as the round pounded into his chest and out the other side, splattering the door.

  With horror, the trio watched as he continued his awkward gait, reaching out for Hank. His mouth moved, trying to yell out, but only the gurgling of blood could be heard from the ghastly wound in his chest. Another shot from Hank’s rifle increased the size of his chest wound, revealing pieces of white bones. Security guy continued his slow onslaught.

  Tom heard the clack of Hank operating the bolt to load another round. With another shot, he watched as the side of Security Guy’s face disappear in a red mist. As fast as the boom came, Security Guy crumpled to the floor.

  Stepping toward the bloody mess, Rachael said, “Is it dead…totally dead?”

  Tom knelt down next to what was left of its head. “I think so…he’s not moving at all. They were right…the undead are real. The blogs were right, at least this…” his words trailing off as he spun toward the security monitors. Dawning on the other two as well, they all turned toward the bank of monitors.

  Clicking through the camera feeds, they stopped when the service corridor outside the door came up. Rachael let out a gasp. A procession of erratic, stumbling undead were working their way down the corridor, likely drawn by the gunfire.

  “That’s too many. I only have a little lead left.” Hank said.

  Tom turned away from the monitor, looking down at Security Guy. “They are much slower, but seem unaffected by body shots. We need more firepower.” He turned toward Hank. “Just down the corridor is the entrance to the gun exhibit.”

  “I’m with you, how we gonna get there?”

  On the monitor, the undead were already beginning to cluster in the hall outside their door. Unable to pinpoint where the noise came from, they slowly spread out, meandering aimlessly. Rachael watched as they occasionally bumped into each other, and then continued on in a different direction. “It’s like chemistry class, where they show how gas molecules bounce around chaotically."

  Walking toward the door, Tom looked through the opening, and said, “Let’s see what's behind the other two doors in this short hall.”

  Standing in the middle of the hall with a door to each side, Hank said, “Contestants, would you like what’s behind door number one or door number two”?

  Not amused, Tom reached for one of the door handles. “Just cover me.”

  Leatherman in one hand, he twisted the door handle with the other and swung the door inward. Inside was a small lounge room, with a table in the center and vending machines, microwave, and coffee pot along one wall. With empty stomachs, they all eyed the vending machine full of candy bars and little bags of chips.

  “Let’s check the other door first.” Tom said.

  With some grumbling from both Rachael and Hank, the trio went across the hall to the other door. Opening the door out into the hall, they discovered a small utility closet. Inside hung a bunch of security uniforms and jackets. Below those sat a mid-sized safe.

  Tom began digging through the jackets. “How much you want to bet what we really need is in that safe?”

  Continuing to look through the jackets as well as pants pockets, he came up with three magazines for his pistol. Holding them up he said, “I'd also bet that’s against policy. Behind the desk is another Glock. If we make our shots count we have enough.”

  After a candy binge and some ammo re-arrangement, Tom and Hank kneeled in the security room entrance, pistols pointing down the small hallway. Rachael turned to make sure they were ready, and then opened the door to the service corridor. Not looking to see what lay beyond, she turned and ran down the short hall, squeezing between the boys. Shots rang out as they began firing rhythmically down the hall, taking turns to avoid wasting shots on the same targets.

  Rachael scooped up the rifle, and used the desk as a rest to aim down the hall. She did not fire any shots, instead waiting, in case one of the boys ran out of ammo or had their pistol jam. Trying to stay calm and breath as evenly as possible, the reticle in her scope still vibrated with her shaking. She watched as one undead after another entered through the doorway, only to be blasted and added to the mounting pile of bodies.

  After a couple minutes of firing, no undead appeared in the opening. Neither Hank nor Tom ever needed to switch to their half loaded magazine lying in front of them.

  “Loading!” Tom said while dropping his magazine. He quickly moved the last couple rounds to his spare magazine and jammed it back into his Glock. “Ready.”

  Hank shouted “Loading” as well and began the same procedure Tom had just finished. Part way through his reload another undead stepped into the doorway and Tom dispatched it with a single round to the forehead. A couple seconds later, Hank shouted “Ready.”

  Both of them breathed a sigh and stood when they heard Rachael yell from behind them, “Hall is clear.” She was back at the desk looking at one of the security monitors. Repeatedly clicking the mouse, she cycled through all the camera feeds a few times. “I think we’re in the clear for now.”

  Tom was standing in front of a different monitor at the end of the desk when he said, “Look at this.” The feed was of the front parking lot. Tall buildings were surrounded by thick smoke. Orange flames could be seen in the distance. “We have to get out of this city.”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen enough of Portland.” Hank said with his usual grin.

  The trio climbed past the pile of undead and headed down the corridor for the exhibit at the end. Standing at the dark entryway Tom clicked on his flashlight, dimly lighting the space just in front of them.

  “You two go ahead, I have an idea.” Hank said.

  Turning Hank’s way, Tom said, “Watch yourself…the cameras don’t cover everywhere.”

  Tom and Rachael stepped into the darkness and began looking through the booths for good weapons. Between the flashlight and the dim ambient light, they were able to work their way through the tables, getting an idea of what all was available.

  Rachael suddenly froze. “Hear that?”

  Tom nodded his head. There was a loud rumbling noise coming from the service corridor. “It’s getting louder.” Shutting off the flashlight, he grabbed Rachael’s arm and pulled her back behind one of the booths. The rumbling increased until it sounded like it was right on top of them. Tom peeked over the top of the booth, but all he could see was the silhouette of an enormous object blocking most of the entryway to the corridor. The rumbling stopped, followed by silence, and then there was a sudden blinding light.

  “How’s that!” A familiar voice shouted.

  Tom and Rachael stood, feeling a bit foolish, and walked up next to Hank, avoiding the blinding light. “Look what you found.” Tom cheered as he recognized the source of the loud rumbling and the lights. “I heard there were mogs at the convention, just never had time to get to that exhibit.”

  Familiar with the Unimog, Tom knew they came from a nearly legendary line of multi-purpose, four wheel drive trucks developed by Mercedes-Benz. They were often used by militaries throughout the world because of their ultra-high clearance, reliability, always on the ground wheel system, configurability, and all around awesomeness.

  “This is no ordinary mog.” Hank said shaking his head. “Totally customized for survival. High powered light bar on top.” He swept his arm out wide toward the bright glow of the exhibit hall, and then looked back at the Unimog. “Self-contained camper on the back, were talk’n kitchen, bathroom, shower, potable water, air filtration system, generator, and a solar power system that gives greenies wet dreams. Not only that, but this unit was sent to an outfit in Cali to have the undercarriage and body armor plated. They put in hardened, bullet proof glass as well.” Looking
at Tom he said, “You and I know not bullet proof, but bullet resistant, right?” He chuckled at that.

  Tom had to admit it looked totally badass. “You’re a genius. We can load this thing up and cruise right out of here.” He looked up at the cab and patted one of the huge tires. “Let’s do this. Rachael, can you climb up in the cab and keep a watch, honk if you see anything?”

  “Sure.”

  Hank and Tom spent the next half hour going through the gun exhibit room. When they found something they liked they would shout it out, so they both had a full mental inventory. Each firearm had a zip tie through the breach that they would clip off before loading them in the back of the Unimog. Rummaging through tables, they gathered as much ammo as they could.

  Both of them stood beside the Unimog. Smiling, Tom said, “Now that was fun.”

  “Nearly the most fun I’ve had all day.” Hank said with a laugh.

  Tom shut the back door on the camper and shoved the folding stairway back up under the frame. “We’ve got a couple shotguns, a boat load of pistols, and a variety of assault rifles. You’ve got the rifles you wanted, and I’ve got my new baby.” Tom patted the shoulder strap of the high end military M4 he carried on his back. “Setup with perfect customizations to boot.”

  Shaking his head, Hank replied with a grin, “You can stick with that Rambo shit, I’ll take my precision rifles any day.”

  During their shopping spree, Tom had noticed nearly every weapon that Hank added to the arsenal was one form of sniper rifle or another. Hank hadn’t said what his previous life held; Tom had a guess, but figured it would likely all come out sooner or later. He figured his life had been kept to himself as well, at least for now.

  The trio used the same procedure to load up on medical supplies, food, water, survival equipment, packs, and anything else they thought they might need for a zombie apocalypse. None of them were sure what that required, but figured it would be similar to any survival scenario, just tack on lots of weapons and ammo.

  Once they had everything together and felt there was no more room in the Unimog, they headed back to the security room. They were all happy to see the pile of undead had not moved.

  Leaning on the desk Tom said, “Okay…before we go out there we need a plan. I’ll start.” Sighing heavily he took a deep breath to steady himself, not wanting to get emotional. “My family is up North of Spokane. We live out in the country, but they’re alone. I have to get to them. That is my sole plan.” Looking back up, he finished, “What about you guys?”

  Hank sat down on one of the chairs. “I never got around to having little ones…or a wife for that matter. You’re stuck with me, unless I’m unwanted.”

  Tom simply nodded. Both of them looked to Rachael to see what her thoughts were. This was the first time Tom really looked at her without fear racing through him. He guessed she was in her mid-thirties, about his age, but he was really terrible at guessing. She was not rail thin, having curves in the right places, and must have worked to keep in shape. With her large brown eyes and long blonde curls, there was no doubt she was an attractive woman.

  “I’m…I’m not with anyone or anything like that. No kids. I have distant family in Montana and back East. I guess I’ve just been running, without thinking of where I am going. I’m not really sure where I should go.” She was beginning to tear up, likely thinking about the fate of loved ones.

  Not wanting to go down this path, Tom asked, “Where are you from…do you need to get back there?”

  She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and shook her head. “Chicago…flew out a few days ago to do some photo contract work. I can’t even imagine what the city is like now. No, I won’t be going back. I need to…”

  Before she could finish her sentence, Hank interrupted her. “I don’t mean to bust this up, but we’re about to have company.”

  All of them turned to the monitor Hank was focusing on. The view was of the front plaza, near where they left Rachael’s rental car. Three guys were running between the cement planters, occasionally turning to fire shots behind them. Immediately in their wake were dozens of the demented, frantically trying to reach their prey. In the distance, a gathering of the undead could be seen, drawn to the sound of gunfire, but too slow to keep up.

  For a time they were taking turns providing cover fire, while the others would run ahead, however as they neared the broken out entrance, survival instinct took over. Two of them dashed through the opening, leaving a man in a white basketball jersey, baseball cap on backwards, outside. He was about thirty feet from the entrance, firing rapidly at the oncoming horde. Several dropped in front of him, holes punched through their chests.

  Tom watched as he ran out of bullets, and then turned to make his getaway. Stumbling a bit, he went down on the cement, tried to rise, but without any cover fire the demented were on him in a heartbeat. They swarmed over him, taking him to the ground in a pile of thrashing arms.

  Rachael gasped, covering her mouth and turned from the monitor, unable to watch.

  Tom and Hank continued to stare at the monitor.

  “My god…look behind them.” Tom said, pointing to the top of the monitor where the street was filled with the undead, in a slow motion pursuit. “We better leave. Right now.”

  “What about the two guys?” Hank asked.

  Tom looked back at the monitor, which showed a stream of demented entering through the broken entryway. “They’re on their own.”

  Stepping out into the service corridor, gunfire could be heard in the direction of the lobby. “Sounds like they’re making a stand…like Custer.” Hank said.

  Before re-grouping in the security room, they had parked the Unimog in front of one of the rolling doors that lead to the loading ramps on the backside of the convention center. Tom slowed as they approached it.

  Rachael turned back, worry on her face. “What?"

  Tom thought about Kelly and Sam, how bad he needed to get to them, and that is why he surprised even himself when he said, “I can’t…I have to try to help them.” He started walking backwards, away from the Unimog, toward the exhibit that lead to the lobby. “If you see demented, leave.” With that he turned, raising the M4, and ran for the front lobby.

  “We’ll be ready for you!” Hank shouted after him.

  The gunfire was getting louder as Tom made his way through the dark exhibit room. Nearing the bright light that lead to the lobby, he raised the M4 to his shoulder, looking through the quick acquisition scope mounted on the top rail. He hesitated near the entryway to let his eyes adjust to the brightness. There were several quick shouts, followed by a barrage of gunfire, and then silence.

  Stepping into the lobby, Tom saw the busted out entryway, currently unused. Through the glass windows, he could see the mass of undead working their way through the plaza, nearly to the building. Several demented were just disappearing out of view down a set of stairs to his right. He quickly followed them, knowing this would have to be quick or the undead would block his retreat.

  The stairs dropped down to a long atrium with exhibit entrances on one side and windows facing the street on the other. A long line of demented raced across the carpet. The furthest demented turned through one of the entryways, likely following the two guys.

  Sighting on the nearest demented's head, knowing he needed head shots to put them down for good, Tom pulled the trigger. Taking steady breaths he continued to pull the trigger, dropping one after another.

  With each pull of the trigger, he kept a mental count of the number of rounds he had sent downrange. This is something he had always done, both to keep track of ammo, and to steady his shots for even pacing. Fear and panic had a tendency to cause people to fire faster and faster or even hold the trigger down.

  Screams of rage filled the atrium as the demented heard the shots, turned and saw new prey. In a mad rush, they sprinted toward Tom. There were clearly more than he could shoot.

  Working to keep his rising panic under control, he continue
d to pull the trigger, while keeping count. 27...28...29...reaching 29, he fluidly dropped the magazine, grabbed a fresh one from his vest pouch, and slammed it into the receiver. When he got the rifle back up to his shoulder, several of the demented were right at the bottom of the short set of stairs. He continued his onslaught, pulling the trigger for a five count, and then turned to make his retreat.

  Undead were just beginning to pour through the open entryway, spilling into the lobby. The masses were shoving up against the glass, pushed forward from behind. Bloody faces pressed up to the glass, smearing it in red as they chomped at it. Those inside the lobby saw Tom and turned his way. Arms reaching, they let out guttural moans. The first couple had ghastly wounds, blood and fluids oozing out on the floor below them.

  Tom raised his rifle and squeezed off several quick shots. Dropping the first few, he turned and sprinted into the darkness of the exhibit. “I’m coming! I’m coming!” He yelled down the exhibit room, hoping Hank or Rachael would hear.

  There was a sudden rumbling from ahead as one of them started the Unimog. Racing back into the light, he could see them ahead. The driver side door was already open and Hank was pulling the chain, opening the large roll door.

  Hank saw him coming. “You drive, I got this.”

  As Tom was climbing into the driver seat, he could hear the pounding of feet on the concrete. The demented chasing him had not slowed a bit through the darkness, maybe even gained on him.

  Hank finished opening the door, turned and climbed up the passenger side. Before he got all the way inside, Tom hit the gas. Unimogs are a lot of things, but fast is not one of them, and they all quickly learned this. Looking in his mirror, Tom saw several demented running up on them, screaming in rage. They began pounding on the sides of the camper.

  As the Unimog accelerated away, they were having a difficult time keeping up. One final demented grasped one of the tie down handles mounted to the side frame. Like a strange dream, he wore a fast food worker’s uniform, red and yellow visor still on his head. Hanging on with one hand, his feet dragged across the cement, until he lost his grip, dropping right underneath the large rear tire. The bump was barely noticeable with the rock climbing suspension.